Barry Lewis: Pickle Rabbi's secret: Sharing is perfection

Sunday

Feb 10, 2013 at 2:00 AMFeb 10, 2013 at 9:01 AM

So what do you say when the Pickle Rabbi asks, "Do you like pickles?"

So what do you say when the Pickle Rabbi asks, "Do you like pickles?"

But before you can answer, he tells you of the symbiotic relationship between the Bible and kosher pickles, and a history that extends from Moses leading the Jews out of Egypt to when they settled on the Lower East Side of Manhattan.

I never thought of eating pickles as a religious experience. Even kosher ones.

Truth is, I really never gave any thought to pickles.

I told the slightly diminutive but very delightful Pickle Rabbi, known away from deli delicacies as Rabbi Mendy Margolin, that I enjoy pickles.

But I'm not what the French would call a pickle connoisseur.

Couldn't pick a dill from a gherkin if my life depended on it. I hope I'm never in a situation where my life would hang in the balance of having to identify a gherkin.

I love restaurants and diners that have pickles on the tables. Makes me feel like I'm getting something extra for my money. I feel guilty picking up those pickles with my hands. I usually cut them and eat them with a fork.

When my family came up to the mountains in the summer, there would be announcements on the loudspeaker that "the shmata man was here," or "the knish man was here" or "the pickle man was here."

What can I tell you? When I was growing up, pickles were bigger than ice cream. Literally. The things were enormous. And crunchy. Nobody wants a soggy pickle.

My mother-in-law always made her own pickles.

Very crunchy. Tasty. Why buy when you can make the best? I always was impressed by that.

Which is why I jumped at the chance to drive 60 miles on a Saturday night in the middle of winter to have the Pickle Rabbi teach me how to make kosher pickles.

I joined some 70 other men, women and children who packed the Chabad Center in Chester for a workshop that was part pickle-making, part history lesson and part culinary education with a dash of Catskill schtick. But first, we ate some deli. Surprised?

Then we made pickles.

To our containers we added kosher salt, water and Kirby cucumbers, just like the ones they used to make pickles nearly a century ago on the Lower East Side. Authentic.

Make sure the cucumbers are completely covered by the brine. Then some cloves of fresh garlic and pickling spice (a mixture of coriander seed, mustard seed, bay leaves, cinnamon sticks and, if you so desire, crushed hot chili peppers). Kosher-style pickles are made in salt-water brine, the others use vinegar. Who knew?

Then you leave it alone.

You want a sour pickle?

The Pickle Rabbi says let it sit two weeks. What, you're in a rush? My fellow pickle-maker Linda Pawelczak of Florida says she'll wait three days. Doesn't want it too sour. Her cousin, Marge Sanok, was a bit more daring. Five days.

I wasn't sure.

On leaving, I asked the Pickle Rabbi what makes a perfect pickle. He smiled.

"Perfect is when you share it. That's the secret ingredient. So everyone can enjoy it."

Pickle class dismissed.

blewis@th-record.com

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